


Bella Accidently Calls Esme Mom (Short Fic)

by ive_got_an_effervescent_mind



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Found Family, Other, mom friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ive_got_an_effervescent_mind/pseuds/ive_got_an_effervescent_mind
Summary: What if Esme and Bella had a greenhouse? What if they spent a lot of time together and became friends? What if they lived in Alaska and Renesme wasn’t a thing?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Bella Accidently Calls Esme Mom (Short Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first fic in a while. It's based on one of my tumblr posts and I wrote part one back in May. I'm posting it here in hopes because I've started working on part 2 again. Enjoy!

I had never thought my life would lead to this. Throughout my childhood in Phoenix, I had basked in the sun with my mother, surrounded by the sand and soil of the Arizona landscape that contrasts with the sleet and snow of the Alaskan winter that encompasses my current home. It was fairly new, even to the centuries old vampires of my family. While during past stays in Denali the Cullens had lived with their cousins, we decided to build our own home nestled among the snow covered peaks. After all, the addition of myself and Garrett to the covens a hundred years ago made things a little crowded. Esme had, of course, designed the white structure paneled with light wood in order to accommodate our family. Floor to ceiling windows, a book-lined office for Carlisle, closets twice the normal size for Alice, and a greenhouse for us.

I had never had much of a green thumb. Renee kept a garden off and on her entire life, but the citrus trees and tomato plants she tried to grow didn’t always last that long. I seemed to make things worse. I had a talent for killing even the most desert friendly succulents, and I would have killed the cactus I took to Forks ages ago if it wasn’t for Esme’s intervention. Under her guidance, I became a botanist extraordinaire. 

Little by little our traveling garden grew large enough to warrant the beautiful greenhouse attached to our far-from-humble abode. I was surrounded by a collection of flora unlike any other.Many plants were chosen for the memories they evoked when caught by our heightened senses: white and violet flowers from the forests of Forks, ferns and wide leafed plants from Isle Esme. Rosalie had begged for daisies and roses, the scents reminding her of long walks in the park from decades past. We had planted three young fig trees on Jasper’s request that had since grown taller than either of the boys could reach. I would often find him, after a long or trying day, sitting under the small canopy created by their interweaving branches. In his youth, he told me, his mother had grown a fig tree. It was her pride and joy, after her children of course, he said. I didn’t push him. I had already grown used to walking into Esme and I’s paradise to find him leaning against one of the trunks. But Jasper was able to confide in me, we had a bond, built of quiet caring and mutual understanding. Perhaps it had formed in the wake of the deep friendship Alice and Edward had, one so chaotic and unique that no one could ever understand, unless they possessed similar abilities. Whatever it was, I had spent hours sitting in the soil of the large planter box listening to Jasper reminisce about experiences almost lost to the waves of time, but now uncovered in the sand by the sight and smell of his fig trees.

Carlise had suggested rosemary, basil, and other herbs, Emmett apples and cherries that he could help pick, Edward sprawling ivy that reminded him of his Oxford days. Alice near demanded “lots and lots of flowers” and in the spring you could find her happily humming in the kitchen arranging beautiful bouquets. Everyone had their own space in the greenhouse, even me.  
The midday sun fell through the trees surrounding the greenhouse, casting dancing shadows onto the collection of cacti and succulents in front of me. The greenhouse was silent, save for the hum of its climate control and the sound of Esme watering Rose’s roses. The quiet was comforting. At first, it made me long for the days I spent in the Phoenix Public Library during my human-hood. Just like the shelves upon shelves of books promoted a muted atmosphere, the thick concrete walls and double paned windows of the greenhouse muffled any sound that came from the house. I still haven't gotten used to the surprising amount of noise the Cullens made. The sound of laughter and squabbles, of the clacking of fingers on the keys of Carlisle’s keyboard and Edward’s piano, were picked up by my enhanced hearing, even though they took place at the other side of the house. I still haven’t gotten used to it, and at times it was overwhelming. At least here, everything was softened. The greenhouse had become my haven, along with Esme’s companionship.

Today, there was no reason to be here except for that companionship. The rest of the Cullens had disappeared from the house, either hunting or over at the Denali’s, and their noise had vanished with them. Alice and Rosalie were helping plan Kate and Garrett’s second wedding, but if you asked Alice it was their first, because “If it is officiated by a man dressed as Elvis then it does not count.” The boys were out hunting, with Garrett and Eleazar tagging along. 

Quiet days like this gave me a peek into Esme’s world, back when the Cullens masqueraded as a blended family. She would often stay at home, working on projects and designing buildings that may never come to life. In recent years, however, we moved from small town to small town less and less, now opting to live in more secluded areas for decades at a time. My favorite was the Alps, but then again our greenhouse there wasn’t as big.

Bright light drifted in through the windows, reflected by the snow, settling on the collection of cacti and succulents in front of me. We had come a long way, the large barrel cactus I held in my hands and I. Cheerfully named Dorothy by Esme, my prickly friend came with me to Forks, and had accompanied me through the journeys of my second life. She was so small back then, but had grown over the course of the hundred years she was in my care. 80 years ago the cold climates and rainy area we favored took a toll on her. I was heartbroken, I couldn’t bear to part with my cactus, the last bit of Phoenix and Renee, of before, that I had left. But thankfully Esme had stepped in. Dorothy had flourished, producing small copies of herself and inspiring the garden we have now. But now, approaching the end of her life, she was looking a little dreary.

“Don’t fret, Bella,” Esme softly said as she approached me. “Giving her a pot of her own, in the sun, should help her out. She’ll be as good as new in no time”

“Thanks Mom” I said, before I even realized. Mom. The word echoed off the glass walls of the greenhouse quietly, but it was loud and clear to our heightened senses. When the sound ceased, the word continued to bounce against the walls of my mind, hitting memories that I would have forgotten, if it weren’t for Edward. Mom? MOM!?  
Renee, my heart yearned. And I could see it in Esme’s eyes, a similar yearning, yet completely different from my own.


End file.
